Cunning Man, Black Coat
by Sar'Kalu
Summary: Continuation of "Clever Man, Red Robes". AU. Divergent post-Baskerville. Moriarty has been found and the Queen expresses her displeasure. All in all, just another day for Harry Potter and Mycroft Holmes. Part Two, "Colours 'Verse"


**Title**

Cunning Man, Black Coat

**Author**

Sar'Kalu

Summary

_Continuation of "Clever Man, Red Robes". AU. Divergent post-Baskerville. Moriarty has been found and the Queen expresses her displeasure. All in all, just another day for Harry Potter and Mycroft Holmes._

Disclaimer

_Sherlock_ is the intellectual property of the BBC, Mark Gatiss, Stephen Moffat; and _Harry Potter_ is the intellectual property of J.K Rowling, Bloomsbury and Warner Brothers Movies; and their affiliates.

Rating

T: violent themes

* * *

...

…

_Curiosity_, Mycroft thought as he exited his black sedan, _had killed the cat_.

He stalked through the pristine white halls of Great Britain's most private and confidential health clinic where his contacts had traced the sudden arrival of a man he was most interested in. Jim Moriarty, for it was the Consulting Criminal, of that there was no doubt, had rather strangely appeared on the ward with an incomplete file and a bruised and battered body.

Mycroft came to a stop by the nearest nurses station on the Fourth Floor, and pinned the excitable young woman in her seat. "John Doe," he stated suavely, his voice like steel covered silk.

The nurse shivered beneath his iron gaze and hesitantly pointed at the room with a guard on the door. Obvious. Mycroft inclined his head in thanks and, swinging his umbrella and clicking the metal tip upon the linoleum covered concrete floor, entered the room. The guard barely bothered to look at him, there was no need. Mycroft's entire demeanour screamed 'government'; but only when he chose it to.

Sherlock was already there, a cigarette (unlit) hanging from one elegant hand, his steel-blue eyes sweeping his nemesis' form where it lay slumbering beneath pale sheets and clinical blankets. It was dichotomous, Mycroft considered briefly, knowing that the man on the bed was by far the most dangerous that he had come across in his long years of service, while the vision before him said nothing but fragile.

"He has amnesia," Sherlock announced flatly, unimpressed.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "the marks?"

"Not made by any instrument I can think of." Sherlock returned, uninterested now that the game was over; and he had been so hopeful too.

Mycroft watched him and understands his brothers brevity. He too loathes that the game is finished and done before it can be won by their clever play and counter-play. As if they weren't discussing another living beings health and fortitude.

Mycroft hummed lightly and shifted to the side, allowing the doctor behind him to slide inside, placing himself between the line of fire of both brothers. He's a short man, red hair, long nose, pale blue eyes and big feet. Uninteresting, Mycroft turns aside and meets Sherlock's bitter gaze.

"Who are you?" The redhead questioned nervously, his adams apple bouncing in his throat like a ping pong ball on the tide.

"An interested party," Mycroft drawled, flicking his nails across the front of his suit jacket.

The doctor nodded and, after checking Moriarty's stats, scurries from the room like a rat running from a cat. Sherlock watched him go, incurious, but still one to observe. Mycroft turned to leave, one foot out the door and he paused and turned back slightly, his pale eyes clashing with his brothers darker ones.

"He ran afoul of wizards," Mycroft announced more than suggested.

Sherlock inclined his head, "so it would seem."

Mycroft couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at that. "How dull," he sighed; and then he was gone. Leaving Sherlock to stare down in disgust at his once-enemy before leaving himself.

Mycroft climbed into his car and nodded shortly at Anthea, the woman typing furiously away at her blackberry and not even sparing a glance at her boss as he fiddled with his black umbrella. London's streets slide by in a blur, unmarked but for the passage of time and they arrive within a short period at the wrought iron gates of Buckingham Palace.

…

…

The Queen was quite displeased with him, Harry noted idly.

He sat in a perfectly squashy chintz armchair of brilliant scarlet to the left side of the Queens desk. The Lady herself was scratching away at form with a custom made fountain pen of the purest silver, her irritation making her normally fluid handwriting jagged and spiky.

They were waiting for the other little member of their group, who was late but who had also, reportedly, been seen at the Clinic early that same morning. It wouldn't be long before he arrive to chew Harry out and whine at Her Majesty. Hence the Queens displeasure.

Sure enough, despite having been called to the Queens side not ten minutes ago, Harry had just enough time to take three sips of tea before Mycroft stalked into the room with a jarring stride that displayed his irritation for everyone there. Rather like Harry, Mycroft used these times with the Queen to relax and unwind after a stressful day; although, more often than not, these meetings _were_ the most stressful parts of their days.

"Potter," Mycroft greeted waspishly, his pale grey eyes hard like diamonds. "I hope you realise what you've done."

Harry regarded his muggle counterpart and smiled tightly, "Mycroft."

Mycroft waited long enough for Harry to have time to attempt to defend himself before swelling like a bullfrog and gearing up to lay into the other man with the sharp side of his acid tongue. Many people who met Sherlock were often surprised that Mycroft didn't suffer from the same foot-in-mouth problem as his brother; however, only those few who knew Mycroft well enough could say that it was clearly hard work for the politician to control his impulses at times.

Right now, the control was the Queen, who really didn't appreciate being overlooked by her subjects, particularly when she could call these two men 'friend', if she stretched the term slightly. "Enough, Mycroft," she stated sharply, as close to snapping as she ever came. "Sit."

Mycroft sat, a mulish expression crossing his face. "Sorry, your Majesty," he apologised as he accepted a cup of tea with a dash of lemon. Harry hid a small smile behind the rim of his teacup before draining it and accepting a refill. Her Majesty had excellent taste in teas.

"Now then," the Queen began severely, utterly unimpressed by the games being played by Mycroft and his brother, and the way that Harry had completely wiped the mind and intellect of one of her subjects. Even if they were unstable maniacs who probably should have been locked up long before it got to this stage. "Explain yourselves, gentlemen. How is it that two of my brightest subjects lost control over a man who is more dangerous than a rampaging dragon?"

Mycroft looked uneasy and barely refrained from fidgeting in his seat. "It was Sherlocks idea." He winced, imagining how that sounded. "We never actually lost him, it was just…"

"Interesting," Harry smirked slightly. "Like that time in Istanbul."

Mycroft winced again, "I thought we weren't going to mention that?"

"We weren't," Harry agreed nonchalantly, flicking his gaze towards the Queen who sat with her hands overlapped before her and her back ramrod straight as she listened to them. "But, quite frankly, I think this habitual habit of ours needs to be explained."

The Queen thinned her lips, "going to explain to me why three of my favourites are unmitigated adrenaline junkies and, quite frankly, risks to my realm?" She smiled slightly, "my dear Harry, I already knew."

Harry and Mycroft sat in their chairs with their mouths opening and closing like fish in an appalling lack of decorum while the Queen took a sip of her tea and replaced the teacup on its saucer with a threatening sounding 'clink'. Both men exchanged a glance and gulped inaudibly before controlling their features into neutrality. Of yes, they were about to be scolded big time.

The Queen shuffled her papers into some kind of order and placed them in her in-tray, replaced the cap on her fountain pen and set it in its holder, and smoothed a hand over the surface of her antique writing desk in deep thought. The two men almost smiled, oh yes, all three of them were creatures of habit and had their quirks, likes and dislikes. This rearranging of important documents was one of the Queens.

"Quite frankly," the Queen began in a sharp tone of voice, "I am astounded at you Mycroft. Playing games like this. Your brother I can understand, his impulse control has never been completely well-handled. But you?" She looked up suddenly and pinned him with her clear blue gaze, "you I expected better from."

Mycroft nodded, his face pale and the only outwards sign that he was distressed by this scolding. He really did like the Queen, she understood him in a way that his own mother never had. Not only that but she had introduced him to Harry, a man who he felt completely comfortable in. Not even Sherlock could claim that dubious honour.

"And you," the Queen turned on Harry, who visibly winced and then stilled. "Wiping the minds of non-magical people like that. Ten years ago you never would have dared. You would have fought tooth and nail to avoid it. Do not turn into Albus, Harry, for both our sakes and the sake of your world."

Harry nodded, visibly restraining from either fleeing or fighting back. His eyes fluttered open and the green depths shone with pained acceptance. Despite being ten years on the job, Harry was only twenty-nine and still held deep psychological scars from his childhood and time at Hogwarts. Something that Mycroft had been working with him on, to the Queens silent approval.

"I am completely disgusted by both you actions," the Queen continued irritably and she smoothed her hand over her desk once more, visibly controlling her actions. "On the other hand, I do understand," she said in a more normal tone of voice. "I understand that you both get bored and that your intellects do nothing to allow your minds to rest; I do understand." She repeated softly. "But I cannot allow such flagrant disregard for our rules!"

Our rules. Not our laws. The Queen had sanctioned some time ago that both Mycroft and Harry, once Albus, would be allowed to operate outside the Non-Magical and Magical worlds laws. Operating within them would often hinder their work and potentially put other lives at risk; and the Queen couldn't allow that at all.

"You will both," the Queen paused, clearly trying to think of some punishment that she could act upon without compromising their levels of clearance, which they needed, or their authority. She sighed tiredly, "you will both sit with this man, James Moriarty, and aid in his rehabilitation. I will contact the clinic and set up times for you both. Separately mind," she added warningly, "perhaps this will teach you the folly of your actions. Dismissed."

As one Mycroft and Harry both rose and set their teacups down before bowing to their ruler and Queen. Then they turned and swiftly left her presence, her disappointment a cloud over their heads and both men shivered beneath it. To be perfectly honest, the Queen was the only woman, only person really, to be able to reign them in. Neither man held any sort of fondness for Prince Charles and both agreed that Prince William needed some polishing before he was quite as interesting as his grandmother.

Mycroft paused in the entrance hall and spotted Harry beside a tall red haired man that looked vaguely familiar. Dismissing such notions as fancy, but the very least suspecting magic, Mycroft nodded at them both before sweeping out into the courtyard where Anthea and the car were waiting.

Behind the eldest Holmes brother, Harry watched him leave with cunning green eyes and smiled. "He didn't see you," he noted with distinct pleasure.

The redhead shifted uncomfortably, not entirely used to his friend being quite so Slytherin in front of him. Usually Harry managed to keep his work and private lives very separate. "That's good then," he mumbled.

Harry shot him an amused look, "why yes, Ron, that's very good." His smile widened, "tell Robards that Operation Cloaked is a go."

"Yes, sir," Ron sighed in aggravation, shooting his best friend a narrow eyed glare. "The things I do for you."

Harry smiled softly, kindly as he met Ron's gaze. "I know," he said gently; "and I appreciate it, I really do. Thank you, Ron."

Ron grinned at Harry easily, "aw, shucks. I love you too, Harry."

Harry's smile froze as the redhead popped away and he spun on his heel and strode down the hall back to the Queen's office. Without ceremony he entered once more, and disregarding the presence of Prince Phillip, who looked quite surprised at his appearance, stated firmly: "Operation Cloaked is a go."

The Queen set down her fountain pen with the stateliness of one who is not entirely certain that what they just heard was a good thing or not. "Well then," she said calmly, "I do hope you know what you are doing."

Harry nodded and licked his lips, "to be perfectly frank, so do I."

"I'll contact 'C'," the Queen assured the wizard. "Leave."

"Understood, your Majesty," Harry bowed. Nodding once at Prince Phillip, Harry slipped around the door, he disapperated mid-stride. The only wizard in history that had managed the feat.

…

…

Sherlock was waiting for him when he arrived.

The Consulting Detectives pale gaze flicked worriedly over his brothers exhausted form, reading the many indicators that suggested, louder than words, that his brother had been quite firmly scolded by one of the few authorities they respected.

"How was Mummy?" He asked snidely, noting also that a certain green eyed wizard had been there as well. Much to his obvious annoyance.

Mycroft shot his brother a mild glare, "she was well."

"And your boyfriend?"

Mycroft was distinctly pleased that John appeared to be out right at this moment, he didn't want to even consider what the good doctor might say if he thought Mycroft could actually care about people other than Sherlock. "Sherlock," he warned in a low voice. "Enough."

"He's only jealous, Mycroft," a tenor tone rang out, preceding a tall man with close cropped black hair and dark green eyes hidden by round spectacles. Harry paused in the doorway, his gaze fixed upon Mycroft, who tilted his head in question. "Operation Cloaked is a go."

Mycroft's brow raised in mild surprise and thought back over his day so far. A rush of understanding overtook him, "the clinic!"

"And the palace," Harry agreed.

Mycroft's smile turned razor sharp, "well now, that is very interesting. Completely technological?" He asked, thinking of all the applications this might have.

"Mostly," Harry said airily, "there are still kinks in the plans, I had hoped that you could help me with them."

Sherlock scowled at the duo in front of him, he greatly disliked being ignored. Particularly by his own brother; it reminded him strongly of his childhood, which he had hated. "You've been collaborating?" Sherlock asked in foul temper, "what does Mummy say about this?"

"She was the one who told us to do so, Sherlock," Harry said easily, unbothered by Sherlock's antagonism. "We know the rules."

"But you never play by them," Sherlock hissed, his eyes all but slitted.

Mycroft sighed and rolled his head backwards to stare at the ceiling. "Don't be dull, Sherlock, you know Harry and I are work colleagues."

"When you're not sucking each others dicks," Sherlock snapped spitefully, feeling poisonous jealousy roar in his chest.

Harry smirked cruelly, "interesting, no really," he drawled. "Did you come up with that one all on your own, Sherlie?"

Sherlock rocketed to his feet, furious. "Don't call me that!"

"Or what, Sherlie?" Harry sneered, fed up with the other mans childish jealousy.

"Enough!" Mycroft barked before Sherlock could dive for the handgun on the coffee table and shoot Harry square between his eyes. "I cannot believe you two! This is getting ridiculous!"

Sherlock pouted, "he started it."

"I merely opened your eyes up to what was already there," Harry spat back, frustrated as all hell.

"God you two are so similar," Mycroft groaned and rubbed at his eyes. "Sherlock, you're my brother, I love you very much but if this doesn't stop, I will stop coming over here." He then turned on Harry, "and you should know better full stop."

"Caring isn't an advantage," Sherlock snapped at his brother, stalking from the room. Moments later they heard his bedroom door slam shut and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Don't," Mycroft warned, pointing a finger at the green eyes man. "Just don't."

Harry rolled his shoulders and sniffed in irritation. "I don't know why you put up with him," he said and spun on his heel and disapperated.

Mycroft groaned loudly as John dropped the bags of groceries at his feet, his face white. "He just disappeared! Mycroft! He just," John waved his hands incredulously, "_disappeared_!"

"Tell me, Doctor Watson," Mycroft drawled in an admirable display of his former façade, "do you believe in magic?"

…

…


End file.
